LAUNDROMAT SONGS**

"How long shall they **** our prophets as we stand aside and look?”    
             ‑‑ Bob Marley

Saturday morning,
the scene's the same
round and round
suds and foam,
round and round
energetic flashes of life
play, giggle and roam.
"Can I have a quarter
to play video games?
Hey mom, can I get a
soda and some chips?"
~~~~~
It's always bedlam,
even at 3 am,
always the same
neighborhood faces
some smiling, others
wrinkled like
clothes with a stain problem.
Clothes and lives
sharing destinies.
***** clothes, old and worn,
*****, hard driven lives.
Both, beat and torn,
both trying to get clean
fresh from this
bone weariness
reflected like patched knees,
lost buttons,
mismatched  sox
or  those brown  streaked ******,  
reflecting our brown stained lives.
~~~~~
Round and round go the clothes.
Round and round so goes our lives
that no matter what we do
seems always in need of mending.
Round and round
women, kids
and clothes in tow.
Men, if  there,
in the background,
begrudgingly,
but always  fighting for control.
~~~~~
Sometimes though the  juke wails
joyful music prevails
causing feet to tap
and lips to smile.
Maybe some Miles
or hip hop Coup
announce a new rinse cycle.
Some young'un dropped the  coin
but you can see
all are keeping time
with  these way out songs.
Finally,  eyes  reveal hidden,
no more suppressed,
revelry,
clothes  are folded musically.
The kid knows his tunes,
out jumps a "classic";
"Redemption Songs".
Marley at his best
conscious style, a request.
"Won't you help me  sing
these  songs of freedom.
Redemption songs.
They're all I ever had
redemption songs."
~~~~~
You can see it in
lint filled air swirling,
eyes  gleaming,
kids screaming;
you can taste the hope
and dreams.
A  joyous hunger
of patched  jeans,
men and women sway
in unison. For 3 minutes, 25 seconds,
on this very early morn,
the possibilities of relations
rinsed  clean
of men and women
folding clothes
smelling fresh,
wishing for a better way.
~~~~~
It is only a glimpse
this Saturday morning.
A round and round
scene
that holds promise
as old, worn clothes
wash,
spin,
dry
and leave refreshed,
clean.
On this morn
a few eyes, alert
wishful,
leave singing;
"Redemption songs,
they're  all  I ever  had,
these  songs  of  freedom."

~~redzone 5.22.99~~
(posted by Aztec Warrior writing as redzone)

Senryu #52 (two versions)**

Reaching for blue sky
dreams, humanity seeks colors
while holding sunshine.

~~~

Searching for blue sky
dreams, humanity finds colors
by grasping sunshine

Aztec Warrior 2.12.16

Deeds not words!
They cried in their protest
Marching on Parliament
Intent on their quest
To the corrupt politicians
Who recorded their struggle
But denied them the vote
And left them to juggle
Their lives that equaled
Less than their brothers
Where they had no rights
Not even as mothers
As wives they were thwarted
Their wages their spouses
They worked long hard hours
And still kept their houses
Tea on the table
Washing hung out
The children looked after
To their husbands - devout
They stood up for their choices
The injustice they faced
Were imprisoned & tortured
And fired in disgrace
Children were taken
Away from their mothers
Who were labelled as mad
Their opinions were smothered
Yet still they continued
To rally & fight
Secure in the knowledge
That they deserved rights
That equaled the men
That ruled their world
So they took up arms
And fists were curled
When one was killed
That brave young girl
Who in front of a horse
Her body she hurled
Votes for Women
Her banner announced
So simple & honest
The message pronounced
To hundreds of people
Who just stood & stared
As her breath left her body
The women prepared
To fight their fight
Be true to their cause
Take down the men
And change the laws
So thank you to those
Brave women of old
Who did what they did
Without being told
We now have the right
As women, to fight
Without risk to our freedom
And stand up for our rights!!

(C) Pixievic 2016

“Poetry, Like Bread”**

Poetry, like bread
is best warmed,
spread thick with metaphoric jam
and eaten with sticky fingers.
~~~
Poetry, like bread
is the toasty language
of the wind
whirling through trees,
or a rill
rolling over smooth rocks
on a Spring-like day.
~~~
Poetry, like bread
is the language
of a girl and boy,
young lovers
playing hide and seek,
both wanting,
needing to be found.
~~~
Poetry, like bread
feeds us our humanity
the way two lovers
explore each other
with warm,
laughing fingers
slowly exciting
goose bump sighing skin.
~~~
Poetry, like bread
is laying with you
all night long.

~~Aztec Warrior/redzone 2.13.14

Note: “Poetry, like Bread is an anthology
of poetry, edited by Martin Espada. It is also
a line of poetry in this book by the poet Roque
Dalton. The poem is entitled: “Like You” and
the whole sentence is” “I believe the world
is beautiful and poetry, like bread is for everyone.”
The title of this anthology is: “Poetry like Bread,
Poets of the Political Imagination” published
by Curbstone Press. I highly recommend this book of
poetry and hope that my use of these words
does justice to the original meaning
of this line.